Hunt of the Maelstrom
by paradoxed
Summary: Heroes don't—can't—refuse immortality. However, as the mantle of eternal life is imposed upon Percy, he disappears for wheres and whens unknown. Olympus can't let that stand. It's Artemis's duty to track him down and bring him back. No one escapes the Hunt.
1. Fool's Spirit

_Wise men argue causes; fools decide them. - Anacharsis_

* * *

"The Council agrees," Zeus said. "Percy Jackson, you will become a god."

"Um … what?"

Zeus rolled his eyes. "A dimwitted god, apparently. But yes, I shall make you a god."

"Seriously?"

" _Yes_. Immortal. Undying. You shall serve as your father's lieutenant for all time. And I will have to put up with you forever."

"Wait-"

"Hmm," Ares mused. "That means I can smash him to a pulp as often as I want, and he'll just keep coming back for more. I like this idea."

"I approve as well," Athena said, though she was distracted by the crowd.

"Enough. It has been decided. Prepare yourself, Percy Jackson! Mortals, shield your eyes!"

Zeus raised his right hand into the air, crushing a golden apple in his fist. A corona of light flared before the radiance pulled back in, descending upon the Hero of Olympus.

Percy vanished.

At every plane of existence—his physical presence, his life force, his soul signature, all so vibrant and powerful and bright—he'd disappeared.

Artemis blinked. Last she checked, that wasn't how deification worked. Which raised the question—

"Where did he go?" Zeus rumbled. The surviving demigods, the nature spirits and satyrs, the army of Cyclopes, even the other gods themselves—none dared speak. Zeus turned to Poseidon, an accusation pouring forth from his lips. "Is this your doing, brother?"

"Don't be so quick to blame me!" Poseidon shot back, equally bewildered. "Why would I have a part in this?"

Artemis agreed with Poseidon. Her father, as usual, was acting rash. What did Poseidon have to gain from Percy's disappearance? Absolutely nothing. What he was losing was another lieutenant, a hero amongst heroes, joining him beside his throne. After all, Percy was more of a hero than the backwater brute Heracles or the drunkard Dionysus.

If Percy's ascension into godhood had truly taken, he had the potential of an Olympian. A new player in the conflicts between gods.

He had clearly been deserving of immortality. What else to award the hero that defeated the Lord of Time himself? Though Percy had certainly been dumbfounded by the declaration, given his articulate response as he faced eternity itself.

Not that he had much time to contemplate.

"Then who?" Zeus thundered. Sparks flew off the Master Bolt seized in his hand. "Who would dare steal him away as I bestow the _highest_ honor upon him! To interrupt the rarest ceremony of all? This _insult_ will not stand!"

Put in that context, Artemis understood her father's anger better. To disrupt Zeus's right as host, first among equals? Still, she felt part of it was Zeus's fault. Artemis hated ceremony—all her Hunters had to do was swear an oath, and then they were basically immortal. Zeus, on the other hand? Honestly, Percy could have simply eaten the apple. Then there wouldn't have been any light show, and they could have seen what had happened. But no, her father had to be theatrical.

"Brother …"

That voice … it was Hestia. She was as she always was, in the form of a young girl tending the flame with a stick in the center of the throne room. She hadn't spoken during a council in decades. As the most tempered of all the gods, the former Olympian only spoke when she felt absolutely necessary, as a voice of reason that all deferred to.

Even the King of the Gods.

Zeus settled back into his throne and looked down at Hestia, who continued stoking the hearth. "Yes, sister?"

"I would first advise discretion." Without turning, Hestia motioned over her shoulder with her stick, clearly referring to the hundred-some assorted beings behind her.

"Those not of the council, leave!" There was a murmuring of protest until Zeus stood and glowered at the audience, Master Bolt in hand. "Begone!"

Artemis waved Thalia away, her eyes stern and brooking no argument. It would not do to risk her father's anger at this point in time. That was how she remained his favorite child—staying out of the way when Zeus was on warpath.

With everyone departed, Zeus lowered himself back onto his throne. "Continue."

"As the eldest, I was in our father's gut the longest. Thus, it is perhaps I who am the most attuned to our father's powers." Looking up, the tiny goddess flared her wrist.

A wave of opaque energy swept through the room, revealing golden specks of dust that hung in the air, few and far between. Nearing the hearth itself, the gold collected into rings of intertwining bands. They encircled the place the space Percy had stood—except what replaced him was the fragmented shell of a sphere, also made of the golden dust. The pieces shifted and twisted, sending a nauseating light rippling across its surface.

"That was easier than expected." Hestia stopped stoking the flames and stood up, inspecting the gold. She poked at to the nearest stream hanging in the air, which undulated gently in response. "It was not invisible, or at least not _just_ invisible. It was not fully there to begin with, though pulling on what was drew out the rest."

"This is father's essence," Hades asserted. "But his defeat blasted him out across the atmosphere."

Hephaestus grunted in agreement. "He's so far spread that even I couldn't build something to put him back together."

"Yet this substance here is clearly vestiges of him, imbued with his power," Hestia argued.

Zeus leaned forward, reaching out. A wind swept through the throne room, trying to pull and gather Kronos's remains in his hand—yet the golden threads of dust remained unmoved, still swelling to its own beat. He scoffed, before settling back to merely analyze the more sparse dust that hung close to him. "Then I presume you believe it is this which is responsible for our hero's disappearance."

Hestia nodded. "Of course, there are other possibilities. However, Poseidon would not have snuck him away to the seas. So unless he has been somehow died or been sent to the Underworld, which I doubt"—she glanced at Hades gave her a dissatisfied glower—"then that only leaves us with this substance."

"But that would suggest … time," Athena said, eyes wide with the implication. "It would suggest that our missing hero is not in a different _place_ , but a different _time_. Time travel is absurd, but under these circumstances, what other else could it be?"

Hestia remained level-headed. "Perhaps Poseidon can still sense his son and tell us more?"

Poseidon focused intently on the golden sphere. "If I reach out, I can sense Percy _through_ those sands, exactly as he was. It's fading even now, becoming more and more distant." The sea god frowned, disgruntled by something no one else could sense. "There's almost something more within, unlike anything I've ever encountered—a great divide, a distance that is not distance, which could very well be because Percy is in history."

"But Kronos's essence was dispersed. How was it gathered?" Zeus asked.

"Father's remains lack his will," Hera proposed. "Perhaps, while granting Percy godhood, the collection of divine energies also attracted the divine energy of Father to him. It would explain the timing."

"So I unintentionally triggered the hero's disappearance, sending him through time," Zeus said. "Time travel … what a terrifying concept. Does this mean Father could time travel? Surely not—if he could, I fear we would never have been able to defeat him."

"How very droll," Hades snarked. "What of it? This _powder_ left of Father—there's not enough of him in the air to form even his toe. Let's focus on more important things."

"Like how we find my son!" Poseidon said. "What we are to do? How do we follow and save him?"

"Why bother?" Dionysus languished on his throne, clearly bored by the discussion. "He'll be fine."

"So we can drag him back and gut him up for the trouble he's causing!" Ares said, twirling his knife along and through his fingers. Poseidon cleared his throat loudly, which did little to curb the war god's enthusiasm. "What? He's immortal now, right? He can survive the beating."

"And if he's immortal, then he can return to this time by himself," Hades said, rolling his eyes. "The long way."

"But then my son would be here," Poseidon said. "Or we would have memories of him. Something's not right. We must go back and find him!"

"About that …" Hermes interrupted, even as his caduceus beeped haywire with messages left forgotten in lieu of the more important matter. "As this is my dominion, and taking a look for myself, I can see an entrance of sorts. Forcing our own being _through_ the essence would allow us to begin on the path back through in time. Though, just a hunch—I don't think there's enough power to send more than one of us. It's already breaking apart."

"Why, that sounds like a job for our Huntress." Aphrodite smiled at Artemis, completely unfazed by her answering glare. Nothing was wrong with what she said, but Artemis wished she could shoot at the love goddess for her simpering, ingratiating tone. She ignored the worried glance her twin gave her—honestly, get ambushed and chained up and Apollo got overprotective for a century.

What was she to say? She had had nothing to contribute, leaving others to puzzle out what happened. But now the spotlight was on her. Artemis looked at the cause of all their trouble. Was Hermes correct in his assumption? Regardless …

"It certainly astounds me that Percy, unintentionally or not, managed to travel through time using this dust," Artemis finally said. "Now that Hermes has pointed out a way through, I see it also. However, I would need to access my Uncle's connection to Percy to make such a venture feasible."

"Why?" asked Poseidon suspiciously. Artemis couldn't blame him; it was an extremely intrusive request. The bonds gods held with their children were private, almost sacred.

"While I have yet to track someone through time, I am best suited for the job. But to search through _all_ time for Percy? To call it extremely difficult would be an understatement. A connection with him would increase the odds of success from nigh impossible to improbable."

"I will not _share_ my son." Poseidon blustered. "I will go myself to find him, then!" He rose from his throne, ready to depart and chase after Percy.

"Sit down, Poseidon," Athena said, eyes on her rival. "Do you truly believe you will do better hunting Percy than our Huntress?" When Poseidon opened his mouth to respond, Athena interrupted him. "The answer should be no, you won't."

Poseidon hesitated, contemplating Athena's words. The wisdom goddess, sensing weakness, continued. "Sharing your bond with Artemis is a trifling matter at best. Are you too _attached_ to give up your best chance of your son's return? We are running out of time. I agree with Hermes, only one can follow Percy into the past. Look, now—Kronos's essence is dispersing once more. If we are to find our _hero_ , we should act quickly."

Athena spoke correctly. It wasn't obvious, but the gold dust was slowly drifting apart, the layers of dust losing coherence and shape.

"We have little time left to lose," Athena said. "And given what happened to our hero, I would not recommend that Father attempt to recollect Kronos's remains. It would not be wise to risk causing anything unprecedented _again_. So, Poseidon,"—she pronounced his name with the sweetness that came with victory—"if you would."

Artemis looked to Poseidon, who already had his eyes set on her. How inanely tense he looked, concerned about his child and weighing his options. Was he perhaps worried about how she would treat Percy? The entire matter might have been a mess from the very beginning, but she wouldn't take out any of her frustration on Percy when she found him. Well, perhaps a harmless temporary transformation for the trouble, if she still could. Some time as a jackrabbit could serve him well. Though, if anything, though, Artemis felt grateful to Percy.

After all, he was giving her the opportunity for something new: a truly unique Hunt, a Hunt of magnitudes and trials and experiences unlike any before. A chase through time itself—an adventure of grand, unknown proportions. Despite her exhaustion, Artemis couldn't wait to begin.

With a defeated sigh, Poseidon made his decision. He lifted his trident, which glowed the same vibrant sea-green as Percy's eyes. The light flowed up to the tips before firing at her, striking Artemis in the chest and sending a wave of cold through her.

Forging connections were nothing new. While she did not have children like the others, her bond with her Hunters was similar. But this one was a novelty—the _flavor_ of this bond was different. While her connection with her followers felt like that of an alpha with its pack, this new bond felt like the tide with the moon. The spiritual essence of the hero Percy Jackson ebbed and flowed from the gold sphere, dissipating into ripples. It was absurdly fitting. Diffused through time as it was, the bond felt distant, vague, chaotic, with terrible unknown depths.

Utterly alien.

It felt weaker than any single one of her Hunters and continued to degrade even as she examined it. That more than anything convinced here there wasn't much time left. It was still clear enough to follow—Percy was _just_ there, somewhere within the amalgamation of Kronos's power before her. But the path, and therefore the bond, was fizzling out.

"Well, since Peter Johnson ruined the party …" Dionysus snatched a can Diet Coke from nothing, and with a pop of the tab, he teleported away.

His presumptive departure signaled the end of the council. Those who cared least of all left immediately: Hephaestus, grumbling, flaming back to his forge; Demeter dissolving into grains. In moments, only Zeus, Poseidon, Hestia, and Apollo remained with Artemis.

"Artemis must go," Hestia said. She stuck her hand into the dust, which sifted through her fingers as they continued circling. The weaving bands of essence were slowing, losing cohesion, and the glow of golden light dimmed. "We should not risk losing the path any further."

The moon goddess descended from her throne, shrinking down in size in a shift of moonlight until she looked like a teenager. Artemis approached the outer rings of gold.

Sunlight flashed before her. "Arty-"

"Don't," she cut off her brother abruptly. He'd shrunk down in tandem as he teleported in front of her, meeting her face to face. "It will be difficult enough to understand and traverse this path. We all have our duties. Do not distract me from mine."

"But sis-"

"Enough." Artemis closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I agree that this is hasty, but if the trail fades, then there is no time." Ironically. "I cannot stay for even for a moment longer if I am to have every advantage in finding Percy, even if I sorely wish I could say my own goodbyes to my Hunters."

Artemis sighed, hoping she would not regret her decision. "I know not of when I will return, whether it be in but a moment or far greater, so I ask you to send my Hunt to Camp Half Blood. If I am not back by a month, tell them they are free to hunt on their own."

"Arty …" Apollo tried again, voice quiet and resigned.

This time, she said nothing. He had already folded. With a quiet "good luck" and a hug, Apollo left. A touching sentiment from her immature little brother.

She turned to Zeus, who simply met her gaze and nodded solemnly. "You know what to do."

Artemis bowed her head, and Zeus vanished in a resounding crack of thunder. It was not surprising that was all he had to say. He had always been hands-off. After all, the Hunt was best left to her.

As for her uncle …

"Bring him back, Artemis," Poseidon said, a soft request rather than a demand. "I fear for the times to come. The things I have seen … I worry this is not the end of our troubles."

"I will do my best," Artemis replied. Delays, delays. "As I have always done."

They studied each other silently, before her uncle sighed, looking older than Artemis could ever remember. "I must talk with his mother."

And then he too blew away in a sea breeze, leaving her with only Hestia. Her aunt had at some point returned to her hearth, eyes of flame trained on the fire, stoking it as if she'd never left it to begin with. Artemis was certain, though, that she was still paying attention.

Artemis stepped through a band of golden dust, shivering at the wispy touch as she let it pass around her before crossing a few more. Soon, she stood before the sphere itself, surrounded by streams of the golden sands of time. Artemis reached out to touch the core itself, senses extended to search for the path within.

Suddenly, Hestia was beside her, hand on her wrist as if to prevent her from leaving, or to guide her. Her eyes blazed indecipherable, vast and unknown. "This experience will change you." her aunt said, voice hushed and distant. "You will not _belong_ —you will have to experience the sensation yourself. You have the fortitude of self and intent to survive, to press on … but be prepared."

"What do you know?" asked Artemis, eyes narrowed. She pulled her arm free, which Hestia let go of without comment. "What are you hiding?"

New information, right before her departure? Information that Hestia had no right to know?

"Not enough," Hestia said, looking to the golden sphere, shoulders slumped and weary. "Memories half-remembered, of a different time." Then her face hardened, looking far too adult and dangerous for a child. "But you must go. It must be as Percy did—yearn to cross, send yourself and your power into what remains, to where you sense him. You will … you will have to find where, _when,_ to land through the connection. Do not lose it."

Hestia stepped back into the hearth, disappearing into the crackling flames before Artemis could ask any more questions. One questioned burned more prominently than any other.

 _What did you mean by 'It must be as Percy did?'_

But Hestia was gone. Artemis was alone in the vast throne room.

How had it come to this? It had been a mere hour since she'd emptied her quiver for some thousandth time into Typhon's eye, a single hour since Percy had defeated Kronos. Her body still ached from riding her chariot for a week straight. But that was the way of things.

The sun was rising—the advent of a new day, a new start.

It was the beginning of a hunt, pure and simple.

The predator: the Huntress. The environment: time. And the prey: Percy Jackson.

Despite her exhaustion, adrenaline rushed through Artemis, her heart pumping sheer elation through her veins. But that wouldn't do.

With a breath, the goddess of the moon and hunt composed herself, drawing her energies together. She shone with the radiance of a goddess. Of an Olympian.

Artemis closed her eyes, focusing on sending herself into and _through_ the dust. Percy, wherever, whenever he was, she was getting closer. Then her soul warped, yanked along by temporal forces as she imploded, her physical body disappearing and her nerves and ichor screamed in agony. Her spiritual essence was torn in directions she couldn't explain, that there weren't names for. Resisting the urge to turn back—wherever, whenever back was—she pressed on towards Percy's soul. Artemis held desperately onto that connection with Percy, of making it to him. She plunged on recklessly, through the time stream she could not open her eyes to see or reach out to feel, for there was nowhere, nowhen else to go.

She would find him.


	2. Magician's Test

_Magicians will always tell you the trick is the most important thing, but I'm more interested in telling a story. - Marco Tempest_

* * *

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

Artemis tried to respond, but it felt as if her existence itself was rejecting her. She felt as if she were torn in two, in three, in five, alive as nothing but emptiness yearning for some semblance of true self. Yet undeniably her body existed—as every fiber of her being screamed at her in pain.

The pain of was an all-encompassing void, filling and draining her with the contradiction of existing in a place she was not meant to _be_.

"Olympus … I'd almost forgotten that this is where our chase begins."

The speaker's voice—Percy's, surely it had to be Percy's, but it didn't sound right—buzzed through her ears, trickling their meaning into her mind via chainsaws dripping with acid as she tried to process and understand what was happening. Still, Artemis fought on, extending her senses through the veil of pain that smothered her drowning mind with fire.

But nothing was there.

Her powers, her domains weren't sustaining her. She couldn't feel the moon, she couldn't sense maidens or childbirth, the wilderness and hunt didn't exist. Did they? Or was she cut from them? Of all the Olympians, of her family, she could only sense the slightest ray of sunlight from her brother. That was all she had to take comfort from.

She couldn't sense her Hunt.

Hestia had been right. How had she known?

Artemis wasn't meant to be here. She attempted to rise, to _leave_. She regretted her decision immediately. Her very soul protested the movement, finding no purchase nor familiarity in her surroundings. The world—nature itself—refused her.

But that wouldn't stop her. Artemis refused to lay there, helpless as a babe, waiting for whatever would come. The Hunt continued, even if everything she held dear had somehow been torn away.

She forced her eyes open, flinching as bleached bone light seared through her bleary vision, biting down the scream of pain that threatened to send her body into further throes of suffering. Every move sent a flare of pure agony lancing through her. But she could see, even as the unnatural light stabbed into her skull.

A shadow crouched over her, leaning forward menacingly in its silhouetted blackness. Percy's voice resonated out once more, its inflection and cadence and idiosyncrasies almost unrecognizable. His tone was contemplative. And … was it just a delusion through the pain? There was a single note of pity.

"Not quite when, though. Let me fix that."

She could see his eyes, a fragmented sea of green and gold.

And then the world shattered around Artemis.

* * *

 _Artemis stands on Olympus._

 _Fire, golden as the sun, rains from the heavens. A flash of silver lightning has split the clouds and hovers there,_

 _She stands in what is once the throne room. She stands where she stood moments ago, moments centuries in the future. The walls are collapsed and the columns have been felled; they hang in their final moments. Pieces of stonework float in the air, their demise immortalized for none to see. The marble floor is fractured, is fracturing. The polish is worn and wears away, and jagged edges press into the soles of her sandals, threatening to ease through and into her pale skin and bleed ichor. The air burns her mouth and throat, tainted by the acrid scent of embers and ruin._

 _She needs to find her Hunt. Where are they? Are they safe?_

" _Thalia? Celyn? Phoebe? Zö-"_

 _And then she remembers._

 _Everything else is gone, and Artemis almost weeps from the sudden wave of sheer loss. Her Hunt, or what was left of her Hunt after the events of the Second Titan's War—she can't feel them. Her sisters, daughters, comrades, worshippers were stripped from her. Connections she had created over two millennia, a bond beyond words … were cut away._

 _Her soul wails in anguish, even if tears refused to fall from her eyes._

 _Because the Hunt continued, with or without them._

 _When was she? When had Olympus ever been destroyed?_

 _Artemis turns around to see a wave of black water taller than Mt. Olympus sweeping over the horizon, gray foam spitting muddied crimson blood into skies. But it is as frozen as the world it is a part of._

 _The only movement is hers, and the raining fire._

" _You might catch me, but you're not bringing me back. Fate always has its way."_

 _Percy?_

 _Then the floor splits, cracking open to reveal golden magma, spewing forth and engulfing her—_

* * *

Artemis bolted upright, eyes blinking away the nightmares, biting down her scream. Then she collapsed back, her exhausted muscles unable to support her.

The goddess heaved, twisting to the side and tearing away the blankets to vomit away from the bed—

Bed?

A slight and worn feminine hand steadied Artemis before she fell over the side. The voice of an aged woman, steady and matronly, speaking Ancient Greek, trickled into her ears.

" _Careful."_ The woman's grip, strong as iron, guided her back into bed. " _By Zeus Xenios, bless."_

Artemis accepted the care—she had no other choice. The unknown caretaker gently pulled out a pillow from under Artemis's head and fluffed it. The pillow rustled with the telltale rasp of straw and reeds.

When was she? How did she get here? Who was this woman?

The goddess took a breath, struggling to fill her raspy lungs. She eventually managed a whisper. " _Who … what—"_

" _Quiet, now_." The woman drew closer. " _Honored guest, you still require rest."_

She had an average, almost plain face. But her eyes, a soft blue, had a hint of steel in their depths, hidden behind the weary toil that had set in with age. Her peplos was rough and wooly, that of a peasant's wardrobe.

The woman carefully propped up Artemis, lifting her head up. She brought a wooden cup filled with water to the goddess's mouth, patiently waiting for Artemis to drink for herself.

Perhaps Artemis would have felt demeaned by the treatment, but she was too weak to protest it. The excruciating pain of her journey was still all too fresh, lingering like a ghost in her body. It resonated within her, echoing within the emptiness left by her lost connections.

The absences were no longer jarring, no longer up in her face. But it was still as if she'd been torn away from all she'd ever known. Her domains, her Hunt, her powers—she could no longer even feel her brother, nor Percy. Was this what it was like to be mortal? To have nothing beyond the physical?

Artemis refused. No. She would find Percy. She would get back, she would get everything back.

But that required dealing with present circumstances first. " _Who … are you?"_

The woman's brow furrowed, eyes conveying disapproval or disappointment. Nevertheless, she answered. " _My name is Danaë."_

Artemis wanted to ask more questions, but whatever strength she'd summoned was already used up. She was so _weak_ , so _powerless_ … her eyes drifted shut, the last thing she saw was Danaë hovering over her.

" _Sleep."_

* * *

The next time she woke, Artemis lay quietly, staring at the ceiling above.

There hadn't been much to look at in the small house. It was only a single room; she was in the corner. There was a single short table in the center of the room, two even shorter stools under it. The door out was on the wall to her left. A window was in the center of the wall behind her, a simple wooden chest sitting under it. A cloth curtain that covered the window had been blown to the side, letting moonlight and wind inside.

And opposite the window was a dilapidated couch. On it, the mortal woman, Daphne?—no, Danaë—shivered in her sleep, having no blanket to cover her in the night wind.

Evidently, the only blanket the woman owned was the one draped over Artemis. The goddess had failed to smother her guilt over the matter—here she was, a powerless goddess, taking a blanket and bed away from a woman who had so very little to speak of.

But what could she do about it?

Artemis was drained, too weak to move. Her body ached, and she, a goddess, even felt cold. The blanket was warm beyond belief, a balm upon her weary soul after all that had happened. She needed the blanket, at Danaë's sacrifice.

She distracted herself from that uncomfortable thought by considering everything else about her situation and her potential options.

At the moment, she was too exhausted to feel the pain of all her lost connections. As a goddess, linked to her followers and her family and her domain … nothing remained. Even her connection to Percy, her only guide through the unknown, had been shredded.

She couldn't summon an iota of anger or distress or grief. It was an unpleasant catharsis, for Artemis knew those emotions would return in time.

The sight of moonlight shining in at least gave her some sense of solace, even if she could not reach out to it and feel it upon her pale skin.

For now … where was she? Likely in some region of Ancient Greece.

What time was she in? There were ... there were so many possibilities ...

* * *

Artemis couldn't stand the treatment anymore. She no longer felt any guilt over taking the blanket—Danaë was insufferable. The mortal was a busybody, hovering never far enough away and muttering under her breath as she fussed over Artemis. The woman hadn't gone outside long enough to gather food before returning, treating Artemis to an entire morning of stilted conversation, as Danaë told story after story about how her loved ones left her to live alone here by herself and how sorry she was that her "honored guest" had to suffer such terrible hospitality and how nice it was to have someone to talk to after so long being alone and—

Artemis tried to teleport away, to anywhere else in this time and place.

Tried.

Instantly, the world squeezed around her, space invisibly warping and tightening around her to prevent her departure. The sheer cold shock of sensation sent her convulsing, short of breath and panicked into more throes of pain, even though she immediately seized her attempt to leave.

Danaë rushed to her side, dropping wherever in the house Artemis couldn't see. " _Honored guest! What happened? Are y…"_

The goddess's mind slipped away.

* * *

" _You are lucky that it is Summer, honored guest,"_ Danaë said as she washed a few varied fruits. " _Otherwise we would not have had enough to eat."_

A few days had passed, and Artemis's condition had improved somewhat. The aches had vanished, replaced by weakness. She still languished in bed, not strong enough to leave it. Her pain and humiliation had been exchanged for frustration and anger.

She was truly grateful for Danaë's aid now, even with the woman's constant overbearing presence. The Ancient Greek woman had spoken at length about herself by now, and Artemis had heard all about how Danaë lived alone in a sparse forest, but often walked to the coast that wasn't very far away. How there was also a creek nearby for water, and some of the best figs grew right there, and that she would pick some of them soon for them to eat. How she had some wool which she was dying a nicer color for her honored guest to take with her when she left.

She was a self-sustaining peasant who had little but still took it upon herself to care for her guest. Artemis could respect such an independent, hardworking, and honest mortal woman.

But her frustration—that not linked to the loss of her abilities or the lack of wont to test them in her current state—stemmed from the fact that the damned woman insisted on calling her by "honored guest," even though Artemis had long since told Danaë to call her Selene.

The goddess had forgotten how irritating she had found some Ancient Greek customs.

" _How long have I been here?_ " Artemis asked, watching as Danaë cut the fruit into slices with a silver knife on the only table in the one room house. " _How long have I slept?"_

" _The moon has waxed and waned at least once since your arrival. I have lost track of the days, though … it may have been perhaps two months since I found you collapsed at the door,"_ Danaë answered, handing Artemis an assortment of figs and apricots.

" _Thank you."_ Artemis waited until Danaë finished preparing her own food before beginning to eat with her host. The food was rich and hearty, helping Artemis feel all the better.

Two months … Artemis had forgotten how inconvenient the calendar was. So whenever she was, the lunar calendar was still in use. While that had been something the goddess had taken much pride in at the time, a modern perspective told her that the effectiveness of the Gregorian calendar was much more preferable.

For a moment, the goddess was tempted to ask what year it was. Ancient Greek was spoken for centuries before the Romans and Latin took over. Then she remembered there hadn't been an established nor consistent system for counting years at all. The standard AD BC system wouldn't be created or even put into widespread use for at least another millennia.

In other words, Artemis had no way to place whenever she was, at least until she went out into the world and found landmarks that could help at least narrow what time period she could be in.

That was vexing, given her current state of being. Danaë's jabbering didn't help, especially since Artemis felt she at least give some token response to hold up her mortal pretense.

Eventually, Danaë left to finish whatever other menial tasks she had, and Artemis quietly settled herself back into bed to contemplate her plight for the dozenth time.

She'd been put out of commission for two months.

Now, though, she had an actionable plan. True, she could no longer sense Percy, nor any entrance back into the time stream. She was also unwilling to test her powers. Perhaps it was just her ability to teleport that did not work, as the world so keenly rejected her presence. But with Danaë on hand so often, Artemis could not test her more innate godly powers.

It would be difficult to explain why her guest was suddenly no longer a young teenage woman.

Artemis could not afford to lose Danaë's aid, as much as she originally detested it. Her recovery was much faster with the support of the mortal than it would be without.

Still, when she'd recovered and left, she would then be able to find things out. She'd find out when she was, where she was, whether she still had her powers. Perhaps the signs weren't promising, but Artemis had a plan to find Percy, wherever he was, whenever he was.

She had found him already—or more accurately, he found her. She could barely remember what had happened, the memories too buried in pain to be truly distinguished. But Percy had been there and then sent her on to wherever here was. Why? And why was he so different, so changed? Artemis had thought she'd had a good grasp of his character after her time with him, and the few insights Thalia had shared.

There were so many questions she had that had answers only Percy could provide.

So she would have to depart, sooner the better. Perhaps there was no longer a connection, no longer a trail to follow. But if Percy was in this time period, Artemis would find him.

If not, she would have to improvise.

* * *

It took another week until Artemis managed to stand. Thankfully, her recovery didn't seem to require any physical rehabilitation. That indicated her essence was still divine and strong, which was reassuring. While she was still adjusting to all that she had lost … the good omen bolstered her spirits.

" _I suppose you will be leaving soon, honored guest,_ " Danaë murmured, standing by Artemis and prepared to catch her in case she fell. Artemis had refused her support, so this was the concession. " _I will miss our conversations."_

" _I will as well,"_ Artemis said placatingly, focusing on finding her balance again. Frankly, it had been Danaë doing all the talking, so Artemis was reticent to call any of it as conversation. However, she supposed Danaë found any sort of company welcome, living on her lonesome with no neighbors to speak of. It was a bit strange, but the woman had given enough indications as to why she lived on her own. In fact ... too many indications.

As much as Artemis appreciated Danaë for her help in recovering, Artemis could not wait to get away from the motormouth, or not be called by that loathsome title.

Nevertheless, Artemis took to ignoring the woman and focused on her self-ordained task of reaching the window. She needed to see the natural world again. It had just been on the wall behind her, only a few steps away—angled in such a way that she could not see out when lying on the bed.

She no longer had her Hunt, she no longer had her family, she even may have lost her powers … but she would never lose her love for the natural world, even if it no longer felt familiar. And there it was.

A Mediterranean wind swept over her as she looked out. Danaë's cottage stood on the crest of a hill, high enough to look to the sea a few hours' walk away. Artemis's eyes misted. It looked just like home, even if it didn't feel like it. She'd underestimated how strong an effect that something recognizable after all her troubles would have on her.

She could almost remember where this place was. The name of it was on the tip of her tongue. But the coastline of the Mediterranean sea was massive, and it had been centuries since she'd last been in the area. Artemis put the thought aside.

For now, she would savor the wind brushing her hair, the lightly salted air, the setting sun on her skin.

* * *

It had been a few more days before Danaë deemed Artemis truly well enough to travel, not even letting the goddess outside until that very moment. Poor as she was, Danaë still insisted on preparing a gift for Artemis's departure too. So it was a little while later, having been given a days' worth of provisions in a cloth bundle, that Artemis was about to leave.

The goddess felt capable again. She was not as powerful as she once was—Artemis was keenly aware, now, how her Hunt's following and worship had bolstered her power and abilities. The world no longer felt as if it were to do at her whim, but alien and unknown.

She'd expected time to be the frontier for her search for Percy, not native lands that she ought to know intimately but didn't.

Artemis paused at the door, looking out to the woods beyond the small cottage. There was no comfort in returning to her home that she had always felt escaping into the wilderness. The finality of the situation set in. But she had to go. Artemis looked over her shoulder, searching for the right words to express her appreciation to her host. " _Danaë … you have my many thanks. I may not be able to repay the favor one day, but the gods will surely bless you._ "

"Y'know, somehow I doubt that."

Artemis spun around. In place of Danaë, there sat Percy Jackson, in a simple black shirt and jeans as if it were the modern world. His eyes flashed a venomous gold, and he was grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

Instantly, a silver bow sprang from naught into her hands, a shaft of moonlight primed to be sent into Percy's chest. Artemis would have wept with joy—here was confirmation that not all her powers had left her—if not for the fact all her senses screamed danger, that Percy was a _threat_.

" _Surprise_ ," Percy said in Danaë's voice, before continuing in his own once more. The cadence was so unfamiliar, almost as if weighted down and distinguished by age. "Even though it had no right to be." He rolled his eyes, waving her away. "Oh, put that down. Even without the whiplash of your first time travel, you're still not at full strength. We both know that."

Artemis grudgingly lowered her bow, though she kept the string taut. It took a moment to switch gears back to English. "Why this farce? Why disguise yourself from me? Why are we here—wherever we are, whenever we are? If you brought us here …" Her eyes widened. "Why did you not simply just bring us back to our time?"

Artemis could sense Percy's presence again, no longer masked behind his deception. The connection she borrowed from Poseidon was gone, but she could sense his presence there, his soul warped and changed by decades if not centuries of experience.

She'd assumed she would have followed Percy to whenever he'd first gone, or shortly after. Not—not whoever she was now facing.

Percy laughed, sounding completely normal as if laughing at any other joke, though the situation threw his actions under an ominous light. "Why would I? I haven't had this much fun in years. I finally get why gods get a kick disguising themselves."

He laid back on the stool, resting on a back that didn't exist. "Seriously, though, you suck at pretending to be human. It seems like gods just can't resist the desire to act like royalty for too long. Not to mention the fact you never needed to go to the restroom. Though I get that. That's certainly _one_ privilege of being a god."

Artemis couldn't tell if she was more angry or confused or embarrassed. She had no coherent response to that, to any of that.

Percy twirled the silver knife through his fingers. "You also didn't question how I had this, either. Bit of an odd thing for a peasant woman to have—not to mention living completely on my lonesome, in this age and time. Maybe I sold the disguise too well … you're cute when you're irritated. It helped that you couldn't gut me for teasing you like you would any other person if you were in better condition."

He chuckled, incensing Artemis further. "Well, I was going full native for a reason. I was acting for the time period—I'm not doing it for the hell of it." Percy frowned, before amending himself. "Well, not _just_ doing it for the hell of it. It's …" He hummed, bobbing his head to some invisible count in his head. "350 BC or so? Bit after that, probably."

"But why?" Artemis raised her bow again. "Why not—"

"I thought it would be fitting for what would come next," Percy said, ignoring Artemis's interruption. "Or rather, before. Say, do you remember what happened a few years ago?"

"Not particularly …" Artemis managed, trying to wrap her mind around what he was saying. Before as in the modern day, or before as in whenever they were now?

"Shame, that." Percy shrugged. "Meh. Let's just get straight to it, then."

He seized playing with the knife, reversing his grip and slicing a large circle in the air in front of him. Artemis stepped back unconsciously, completely taken off guard as the silver blade carved the air in front of him open, the space within flashing gold before shifting to an image of ruins.

No. Not an image.

Percy stepped through the portal he created, nonchalant as nonchalant could be. He looked back and winked at her. "Don't try teleporting again."

And then it snapped close behind him. Artemis blinked. He'd left, just like that. He was still present in this time, not far from where she was—only a few kilometers to the east. His divinity shone like a beacon, shouting its presence rather than hiding it like before.

He wanted her to follow him.

Artemis growled. She _abhorred_ being toyed with.

The goddess threw down the bundle of food, scattering the false goodwill of the 'mortal' she'd thought she'd been interacting with. So much acting just to mess with her, by her Father she was going to make him suffer, regardless of how weak she was right now.

Another hole in space appeared by the floor, and his hand reached through, grabbing a fig, before pulling back and disappearing.

… _metrokoites._

With a bound, she seamlessly transformed into a gazelle—shapeshifting still worked, Percy had confirmed that by hiding right in front of her as a woman—and bounded towards Percy's location.

When she arrived, her temper boiled over.

It was the first Greek temple built of marble. It was a Wonder of the Ancient World. It was visited by merchants and kings and seers alike to sacrifice jewelry and goods. It was a sanctuary for those who fled persecution and punishment. Two legendary demigods, Dionysus and Heracles, had fled to the temple to beg the host goddess for shelter when the Amazons had pursued them.

Percy Jackson had brought her to the desecrated Temple of Artemis.

Artemis transformed back, righteous anger fueling her every movement. Hands clenched around her bow and arrows, she ascended the blackened steps and entered the temple proper.

"You dare?" she shouted. Silver light flared from her, filling the destroyed temple. The sterile light warped the shadows of rubble around her.

"I've done worse," Percy said around a mouthful of fig. He wasn't even facing her, instead choosing to examine the marble floor, tracing shapes in the ash that caked the surface.

"I'm inclined to make this retrieval more _painful_ than strictly necessary." From the beginning, to the whole Danaë farce, to _this_?

Percy turned around, still not even caring to glance at her. "Could you remind me who did this again?" He looked around, gesturing to the surrounding ruins, to the drifting ashes and debris that remained. He took another bite before tossing the unfinished fig over his shoulder, _littering_ the floor of her precious temple. "It's been a while."

Artemis snarled, releasing her arrow. Percy deflected the bolt with hardly a twitch of the knife, sending the arrow skittering across the stones. "Are you _trying_ to anger me?"

"Am I?" Percy asked, rubbing the back of his head. "I just asked a question … oh, right. Herocloud? No, Herostratus. Damnation of memory or whatever the Romans called it. My bad."

"My father _insisted_ that I deliver Alexander rather than protect my own temple!" Artemis screamed at the demigod—no, the god—who had brought her back to one of her worst failings. "And for all the justice I wanted _dealt_ , the mortals fucking _immortalized_ the damned man's name rather than strike it from history!"

Percy dodged a few more arrows, swiping away those he couldn't. "Oops?"

This time, an arrow struck through his leg, though the hero merely yanked it out and let ichor drip out as if nothing had happened.

" _Why did you bring me here?_ " Artemis yelled, panting from the exertion and adrenaline. She would have continued if it weren't obvious that her efforts to injure him were wasting her energy.

"You never did catch who destroyed the first temple," Percy shrugged as if he still didn't give a damn, as if he wasn't dropping a bomb into everything she'd thought she'd known. "Though maybe you just thought it was a normal flood."

 _Koprophagos._

"That was your doing? Instead of returning home, you destroyed the _first_ Artemision?" Artemis loosed one last volley of arrows before pulling a knife from the air and tearing across the temple to gut him.

Percy remained calm as he'd begun, still playing with her as he parried away first the arrows and then her swipes. Then, as he caught a strike, he vanished in a flash of gold. It was just as he had when he first disappeared. Artemis went sprawling onto the rough marble floor, her knife sent flying out of her still weakened grip.

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'don't shoot the messenger?'" Percy called from across the room, standing where Artemis had been moments before. "Though … well, fair enough. Anyway—"

Percy carved another portal in the air, and through it, Artemis saw through time. She saw the first Temple of Artemis—not as grand, not a wonder of the world, but her temple nonetheless.

She stood, leaving her weapons stranded on the ground. In Percy's eyes—whoever he was now, whatever person or god she was starting to hate even though she'd considered him a man of worth before—she probably looked pathetic. He was the predator, in control here, playing games with her. He'd sat before her, tended to her, having known her every intention already and mocking her by being so close. And now he brought her to a time which she considered one of her lowest points, just to drag her to another.

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice cracked, no longer so vehement but vulnerable instead. "Percy, if you've figured out time travel … why didn't you return? You still haven't- haven't answered that. Why must you … what purpose does this serve, mocking me so?"

Why did she have to go through this, cutting herself off from everything she'd had and known to chase him through time—if he could have just come back himself?

Percy paused at the breach and looked back to Artemis, truly considering her words for the first time. "I'm … I do this for what must be."

He stepped through the portal, and for a moment Artemis thought he was about to leave, stranding her in time. Then he stabbed the knife into the portal. "You'll need this to guide you," he said. "To cut through time."

He turned away, waving his hand in a circle. Another portal opened before him, in a different time to a different time. Why had he ever used the knife if he could do without it?

"You still haven't answered, Percy. Why didn't you come back?" Artemis had to know. She had to understand why she had to put herself through going through time, through losing everything to do this. She'd looked forward to a Hunt, but at the cost of her Hunters and family? Was this worth it? Was his answer going to satisfy her?

Percy, halfway through the next gateway through time, didn't bother turning back this time. His voice floated back, light and amused. "But I did answer. Why the fuck would I?"

And then he was gone.

Artemis was left in shrine filled with her mistakes. She so desperately wanted to return to what once was, to go back and not be confronted with this mess of a situation.

But the Hunt continued.

The goddess steeled her resolve, letting her weapons fade into moonlight behind her as she headed towards the portal. She walked on, over a fractured marble floor. The polish was worn away and jagged edges pressed into her sandals, threatening to ease through her the soles and bleed ichor from her feet. The air scratched her mouth and throat, tainted by the acrid floating ash and dust, disturbed by her movement.

She stood before the portal.

Her best course of action was to cross to the other side and retrieve the knife. She wasn't eager to accept or use Percy's 'gift.' There had to be other options, other methods of travel. The hero himself had demonstrated that. With a knife, with a wave of the hand, he'd opened gates through time. However opening the portal was done, traveling through was obviously far more elegant than entering the time stream itself as she had done in Olympus.

So for now, unless she developed some magical power out of the blue, Artemis had no other option but to use the silver blade. Artemis had to cross through time once again, and confront Percy again.

Artemis stepped through the portal.

And the world shifted around her.


End file.
